Helping Hands
by Frisco
Summary: John and Teyla search for the Athosians after a possible clue is found during the clean up of the settlement. Spoilers through S4's The Seer.


John glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he scrubbed the towel over his head. Thirty minutes until his meeting with Carter – just enough time for one file. Powering up his laptop, he dropped into the desk chair and scrolled through the base intranet until he located the recently created Cultural section. Rodney had found the files on Elizabeth's computer – hundreds of them detailing life in the Pegasus galaxy, some containing mere scraps of data and others chock full of information from mission reports and trade negotiations.

The folders for Athos and Sateda each held at least ten times as much as all the others combined. He hadn't known his teammates had been recording their history for Elizabeth; it had probably been her idea. While Ronon and Teyla had shared bits of their pasts and cultures with him over the years – on missions, during sparring sessions, at meals – they had not gone into this level of detail. Or maybe they had. He and Rodney spent so much time discussing Earth culture and trading barbs, he might not have listened as closely as he should have.

Although he knew they would tell him anything he wanted to know, the recordings allowed him to learn about their cultures when he had time and without having to ask potentially awkward questions. He had decided to start with Athos first, though he couldn't resist clicking on the "Traditional Satedan Sports" file, laughing as Ronon's rumbling bass described a battle simulation using sticks and scarves. Maybe he hadn't been making it up.

He searched through the Athosian files, trying to remember where he'd left off. Tapping down, he selected "Music" and smiled as Teyla's smooth, precise tones emerged from the speakers.

"_Athosian music is not in written form. We do not have symbols to represent pitch and length. Those with the talent for music teach it to anyone who desires to learn, handing down our generational songs, what I believe you refer to as folk music, to our children without regard for ability. Music is considered sacred, an expression of our heritage and our defiance of the Wraith. Before planting season and immediately after harvest, we celebrate the gift of music through concerts, allowing those who wish to become students to hear and sample the different instruments and vocal styles. The current generation boasts of several composers, including_-"

He hit pause as his radio blared in his ear. "What is it, McKay?"

"_Would you tell Ronon to give us some room to work? I trip over him every time I turn around_."

John rolled his eyes and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Ronon?"

"_He's a Wraith, Sheppard_."

"We've already had this discussion. We need his help to defeat the Replicators. You have to step back and let them work."

"_This is a mistake_."

"Maybe, but it's my call. Give them some space."

"_Fine_." Ronon did not sound happy.

"And Big Guy?"

"_Yeah?_"

"Keep McKay safe while you're at it."

Ronon's satisfied snort didn't quite drown out McKay's squawk. John clicked off his radio and checked the time again. He'd be late if he didn't get a move on. Sighing with disappointment, he closed the file. Fifteen minutes later, dressed and presentable, he knocked on Carter's door.

She looked up with a smile. "Good morning, John. Come on in."

He took a seat in a chair that faced the wrong direction in front of a desk covered in unfamiliar knickknacks and photos. "Morning, Colonel."

Getting down to business, they covered new personnel requests, Mr. Woolsey's report, the lack of progress made by McKay and the Wraith, the ongoing ravaging by the Replicators, and the continuing search for the Athosians.

"On that note," Carter said, "Teyla has asked to be taken by jumper back to New Athos so she can pack up her people's belongings before scavengers steal everything. Would you assign a pilot and a jumper for that?"

"Of course. I'll assign me," he replied, trying to hide his surprise. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you're ready."

"Is there any problem with me taking a few more people along?"

"Who did you have in mind?"

"Anyone off-duty who would like to volunteer."

Carter smiled at him. "I think that will be just fine."

"Great. We'll leave in an hour then."

He headed to his office to type a quick email and cancel a few meetings then dropped by McKay's lab to see if the kids were still playing nice. After informing Rodney and Ronon about the trip – and assuring them that he and Teyla wouldn't get kidnapped, shot, or drunk – he wandered off to find her, checking the gym and the reading room before making his way to her quarters. He rang the chime and waited, ringing again when she didn't answer. Swiping at the door controls, he peered into the darkness dimly illumined by a couple of spice-scented candles and sunlight peeking around the window blinds.

"Teyla?" When his eyes adjusted, he could see her sitting on the bed, staring at a photo. "Hey. You OK?"

She blinked slowly then lifted her gaze. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't hear you." Her voice was distant, almost dream-like.

"Is anything wrong?"

Smiling sadly, she traced her fingertips over the photo. "Did you need something?"

"Carter told me you needed a pilot to take you back to New Athos so here I am."

Her eyes finally focused on him. "I did not mean to take you from your duties."

The loss of her people had taken a toll on her – she rarely smiled, didn't laugh, withdrew into herself more than she ever had. And there was something else. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but it was there, hovering. The news from the seer, Davos, that her people were still alive had been both a blessing and a curse. She was more determined than ever to find them, but the leads had completely dried up. Hope was becoming a burden.

"My duties? Teyla…." He sat next to her. "Taking you to New Athos is way more important than requisition forms and battle drills. Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go?"

Brushing her fingers over the picture again, she didn't answer. John let his gaze shift sideways. It was a black and white photo of hands clasped together, hands soft and wrinkled. Old.

"Elizabeth bequeathed this to me," Teyla murmured. "I was admiring it once, and she noticed. She said many other photos were taken that day, but this one best captured her grandmother's essence – gentle and loving." She sighed as she stared at the picture, one hand straying to the right side of her face. "I have often wondered what the touch of such hands would feel like. Charin's hands were callused, toughened by years of labor; my mother's were as well." She glanced at her palm. "As are mine."

"My mother's were like hers," John said quietly. "Both of my grandmothers too. Silky and soft, like being held by a fluffy cloud. Able to cure fever or chase away monsters with a touch."

Her hand settled on her abdomen before quickly moving to caress the photo again. "Will my people ever know such luxury?"

"We're going to find them, Teyla." Taking the picture from her and setting it aside, he grasped her hands lightly, running his thumb over the calluses at the base of her fingers. "And even if we defeat the Wraith tomorrow, you wouldn't give up your bantos rods just to get rid of a couple of calluses, would you?"

A smile made a too-brief appearance. "I would not, but I would like to have the option."

"You enjoy kicking my ass around the gym too much."

Teyla met his gaze, some of the old sparkle in her eyes. "Perhaps if you practiced more…."

"You'd still mop the floor with me." He chuckled, releasing her hands and standing. "Now, we have a trip to make." He glanced at his watch. "Grab your stuff and meet me in the jumper bay in twenty minutes."

oOo

The door slid shut, and Teyla sank back onto the blanket her friend, Bakel, had woven to celebrate her inauguration as leader of the Athosian people. Glancing at the photo one last time, she set it on the shelf next to the pictures of her team and her people. Rodney's love for his camera had been an irritation until she had understood the device's potential. Borrowing it for the past several festivals, she had begun visually documenting her people and their ways. The one of Halling, face filled with pride, hugging Jinto as he returned from the _dirsat_, the rite of passage into adulthood, was her favorite.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

The photo mocked her with its silence.

Her hand had drifted to her abdomen again, caressing the life inside. Clenching her fists, she made a mental note to refrain from doing that in the presence of others. She hoped John had not noticed earlier. Though she longed to share her news with her teammates, Kanaan deserved to know first. She had crafted the _tvolisq_ carefully; the intricate stitching on the wrist cuff of tanned _skirsk_ hide would announce his fatherhood to the universe.

Opening her fists, Teyla studied her hands – small, callused, blunt nails, scarred, nothing soft or smooth about them. A worker's hands. No, the hands of a warrior. A leader.

She pulled on the duster coat of _letrum_ skin that Ronon had given her for her last birthday, the color reminding her of Rodney's coffee when he added too much cream. Tucking a knife in her boot and one at her waist, she strapped a Beretta to her thigh, having learned her lesson the last time. She dragged her fingers through her hair, pulling it tightly to the nape of her neck and securing it with a band. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she headed out.

When she reached the bay, she had to dodge a dozen or so people loading jumpers with crates as she searched for John. Teyla found him at the controls of Jumper Two, running through his pre-flight checklist.

He grinned as she entered. "Hey! We'll be ready to go in a few minutes. Got a couple more crates to load."

Frowning as she took her seat, she asked, "We? Who is 'we'?"

Gesturing toward the windshield which revealed the soldiers and scientists who were bustling in the bay, he answered, "Them. We."

"I thought we were going to New Athos."

"We are."

"Why are these other people here?"

John looked at her quizzically. "Colonel Carter said you wanted to remove your people's belongings before scavengers arrived."

"Yes. I brought a few bags to carry them in."

"Teyla, you can't pack everything in bags."

"I did not intend on packing everything, only the precious items."

He turned to face her fully. "We aren't leaving one thing behind. Your people will need all their belongings when we find them."

"Thank you, John," she murmured, quite touched. "But you should not have ordered these people to come."

"I didn't order them, Teyla. They volunteered. I asked anyone who was interested in helping to come to the jumper bay at 0900, and here they are."

Tears threatened to spill as emotion choked her. "They came to help me?"

"That surprises you?"

"I did not expect-"

"_Colonel Sheppard?_"

John held up a finger as he clicked his earpiece. "This is Sheppard."

"_The jumpers are loaded, Sir. We're ready to depart_."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." John adjusted frequencies. "Flight, this is Jumper Two. We are ready for launch."

"_Jumper Two, Flight. You are go for launch_."

John glanced at her. "Ready?"

"Yes, I am."

"All jumpers, this is Jumper Two. We have a go."

The small craft floated effortlessly from its berth and descended into the gateroom, rotating smoothly to face the Ancestral Ring which shimmered invitingly in front of them. She glanced at John, smiling inwardly at the childlike glee that lit his face. He was never happier than when he was flying. Winking at her, he made a great show of throttling the ship through the gate at full power. In the blink of an eye, they were swooping over the tall, spindly trees of New Athos, following the wide path of rich soil from the gate to the settlement.

Between the Bolo Kai and the forensic teams, the village was a disaster. Tents were in disrepair; clothing was strewn on the ground; barrels were split open, grain and wine everywhere. Gratitude for John's thoughtfulness and foresight dimmed as loss welled inside. How many would they lose? How much damage would be done before she found them?

John guided the jumper to a spot nestled between the stream and the camp. "Teyla?" he asked, concern drawing his brows together. "Are you coming?"

She shook herself and managed a weak smile. "Yes."

Following him outside, she noted the other four jumpers parked in a neat row next to him, their crews already unloading the packing crates. The settlement was eerily quiet; other than the low murmurs of expedition personnel, there was no other noise. No birds, no animal sounds, not even the rustling of leaves. As if the planet itself was in mourning for its lost people.

"Where would you like to start?"

Walking to the center of the camp, she turned in a slow circle. "These," she began, indicating three large tents with oval top coverings, "are for communal gatherings and activities."

"Sergeant Chang?"

"Sir?" the wiry redheaded man responded.

"Pack these three tents first. Teyla and I will walk through the settlement and mark the names of the families on the crates that Dr. Simmons has so kindly been distributing."

"Yes, Sir."

Simmons, a petite chemist with a million freckles and short nut-brown hair, handed John a black writing utensil. Smiling his thanks, he turned back to Teyla.

"Lead the way."

Gathering herself, she headed to the tent to the right of the common ones and pulled back the flap, grimacing at the mess inside. Paper was everywhere, books torn and tattered, dishes broken, and clothing ripped.

"This is the home of Delsa Corlanna, the teacher of the school." She knelt, picking up the jagged pieces of a shattered bowl. The rich blue of Athos' night sky and large enough to hold _tuttleroot_ soup for an entire family, it had delicate yet sturdy handles on two sides and bore Delsa's insignia of crossed triangles. "She is also a master _brivlon_, um, a-"

"Potter." John supplied.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

His face reddened. "Well, you're holding a pot…."

"Oh, of course."

He scribbled the name on the crate as she laid the shards on the still standing bed. "The _brivla_ responds to her touch like no other, allowing her fingers to shape the clay into pieces that are not only exquisite but functional. Her work fetches a high price at the Mreqil market."

Delsa's hands were strong and agile, a bit like Rodney's – always in motion. They bore scars from field labor and broken pottery plus the bite marks of the _prebol_ that had attacked them during their _dirsat_. Friends since childhood, Delsa had been the one to suggest that Kanaan's affection for Teyla might run deeper than she realized.

Wheeling, she hurried from the tent, gulping the fresh morning air. A tentative hand patted her shoulder.

"You OK?"

"How could I have let this happen?" she whispered.

"This isn't your fault, Teyla. If you'd been here, you'd be missing too."

"At least I would be with my people, helping them. They are my responsibility, my blood, my family."

Pulling away from him, she moved to the next tent, brushing aside the cloth that functioned as a door. An unstrung crossbow lay near the entrance, the bolts missing. A chest that held farming implements was overturned, the contents in pieces, and dolls in various stages littered the floor. Made from the softest cloths woven by the inhabitants of R'rol, in a multitude of colors, they were stuffed with scraps of the same material, adorned with jewel-toned glass beads for facial features, and attired in traditional Athosian garb. She bowed her head as a quiet footstep signaled John's presence behind her.

"Olkesh Monneit lived- lives here with his wife and three remaining daughters. _Resiva_, doll making, is his hobby." She hugged the most complete one to her chest, unconsciously stroking her flat stomach. "He presents one to each newborn child and gives others as gifts at the Tendol Feast. He must have been preparing these…."

"Teyla-"

"Olkesh was badly injured many years ago in a fall during a hunt. The damage to his right hand was extensive, and he learned _resiva_ to restore his dexterity. His touch was rough and the fingers misaligned, but he became quite proficient."

"You don't have to do this, you know."

Whirling to face him, her anger dissipated at the compassion radiating from him. "I _need_ to. Do you understand?"

oOo

He did understand. He was one of the few who knew that Rodney had a small shrine in an alcove of his quarters filled with mementos of lost friends. John had made numerous trips with Ronon back to Sateda to gather remnants of a dead civilization. His own journal was buried in a desk drawer, stuffed with pictures and newspaper clippings; it was one of the things that kept him sane.

As they made their way around the camp, she reminisced about childhood friends, proudly described the work of artisans, recounted hilarious tales of trade gone wrong. He smiled fondly as they reached the tent of Eldon and his wife and twin boys. The Olesian scientist had been welcomed warmly by the Athosians. The living area reminded him of McKay's lab – pieces of his creations on every surface.

Her voice caught several times as they entered the homes of people he assumed to be close friends – the Simor family, a healer named Penar Thumal, a hunter called Kanaan Maresh. John thought she palmed something from a table in his tent, but her face held no hint of it when she turned.

Halling's tent was the worst. The rest of the Athosians he thought of as Teyla's people – unconsciously distancing himself – but he had formed a friendship with Halling and his son during their time on Atlantis. Seeing the familiar coat tossed forlornly in a corner suddenly made the situation intensely personal. Tears trickled down Teyla's face, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat as they stared at the destruction in the once neat home. The dining table was smashed; one bed was overturned, and the mattress of the other one had been shredded.

"The last time I saw him was for the _jalud_," Teyla murmured.

_Jalud_. That word had been on one of her recordings. After a few agonizing seconds, it popped in his mind. The _jalud_ was a ceremony that celebrated the end of a mourning period for a spouse. Women uncovered their hair; men shaved their heads and beards. It was usually done to signify a readiness to wed again. John tried to imagine Halling bald and clean shaven. Did he have a bride picked out? Had he lost her before ever getting the chance to marry her?

"Why don't we take a break," he suggested.

Looking subdued, she nodded and stepped outside. He followed her to a wooden table near the center of the village. Sitting opposite her, he pretended not to notice as she dabbed at her cheeks, choosing instead to stare at the crystal sky above them. Sunrise had chased away the shades of rose and lemon, leaving a striking azure backdrop for the wispy white clouds that floated above them. Perfect weather for flying. Or golf.

"How does living here compare to Athos?"

Teyla blinked, her brows drawing together while she considered the question. "The days are longer, the weather warmer. The soil is more difficult to farm, but the crops grow stronger than before. Otherwise, it is much the same, although I miss the mountains."

"Do you think your people will ever go back?"

She sighed, glancing at some point behind him. "No. Not in my lifetime. The Wraith made sure the land would be unusable for generations."

Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he let his gaze drift to the table then to her face. "I have a confession to make."

"Really?" A smile tugged at her lips. "You are ready to admit to smearing Vaseline on my bantos rods?"

"That wasn't me!"

"Ah. Then perhaps you are the one who programmed my laptop to play the Xena theme when I turn it on."

"That was McKay, and you know it."

"The blue dye in my shampoo?"

His ears burned. "At least it washed out. That gunk you put in my toothpaste made my teeth glow neon green for a week."

"You were quite… stunning." She giggled, honest-to-God giggled, for the first time in weeks.

'Do you think Rodney will ever forgive us for rekeying his translation program to return everything in backward Satedan?"

"Even if he doesn't, his reaction was worth it. A brilliant plan, by the way. How did you convince Zelenka to do it?"

"It did not take much convincing. Once I explained what we wished to do, he was eager to participate." Smiling broadly, she asked, "Now, what was your confession?"

"Oh, yeah. Um, you remember earlier when you mentioned _brivlon_, and I knew it had to do with pottery? That wasn't simply because of the vessel you were holding. I've been listening to the recordings you made for Elizabeth." He didn't know what reaction he'd expected, but the pure delight that spread across her face took him by surprise. "You aren't… upset that I didn't just ask you?"

"Of course not. Rodney asked if I would object to the recordings being made available to expedition members, but I did not think anyone would actually take time to listen to them. Several people have made comments, and I am pleased you are also interested. But I do hope you know that I would answer any question you had."

"I know. It started out as more of a time thing, listening when I had an extra five minutes, but then… _this_ happened…" He waved at the empty settlement. "… and I didn't want to upset you."

Teyla propped her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. "Asking questions about my people would not upset me. Discussing them helps."

"Does it bother you that Rodney and I talk so much about Earth culture?"

Mischief danced in her eyes for a moment. "I would not know so much about poker if you did not."

"Is that your way of reminding me I owe you fifty bucks?"

"Chocolate and popcorn are perfectly acceptable alternatives."

"They're scheduled to be on the next supply run. And you didn't answer my question."

"I have traveled extensively in this galaxy and know much about the various peoples, but your world is quite different than any of the ones here. I derive great enjoyment from learning of other cultures, and yours is no exception. I will say that the conversations you and Rodney have differ vastly from the stories Elizabeth recounted."

"I can only imagine. We've really got to take a road trip one day."

"I would like that very much."

"Excuse me, Colonel? Ms. Emmagan?"

"What can we do for you, Dr. LaSalle?" John asked.

The tall, willowy blonde with thick glasses and a nose ring held a small piece of metal in her hand. A flat triangle with rounded edges, a hollow center, and a dull coppery tone, it was engraved with marking he didn't recognize.

"We've been debating what this is," La Salle was saying. "I think it's currency, but Dr. Y'barra thinks it's jewelry." The flush at the base of her neck added a splash of color to the Cyrillic letters tattooed under her right ear. Sometimes John wished he'd never learned Russian. "I, uh… I've been listening to the recordings you made about your people, and I know the Athosians don't use money typically. But still…. Ms. Emmagan? Did I say something wrong?"

oOo

Teyla could feel the blood drain from her face as she stared at the Tsipar coin. The doctor's words droned on but lost meaning as blood roared in her ears. Was it possible that her people were taken in retribution after all this time? Rage at the memory filled her.

"Where did you find this?" she demanded as she snatched the coin from LaSalle's hand.

"In the dirt near the stream. I can show you if you'd like."

"Yes. Now, please."

Standing, she followed LaSalle the short distance from the center of camp to the stream. The wash pole still stood, the clothes fluttering in the breeze a silent testament to the abrupt departure of the owners.

"Teyla?" John called as he jogged to catch up. "What's wrong?"

"She is right. This is a coin used on Tsipar, a world that does not barter and one we stopped trading with over a year ago. It should not be here."

"Here." LaSalle pointed to a pile of pottery shards. "It was in the midst of the broken vase."

Kneeling, Teyla raked her fingers through the dirt and clay pieces but did not find anything else of interest. "Has anyone else found something similar?"

"Not that I know of."

She released a pent-up breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. "Thank you, Doctor."

LaSalle nodded and hurried back to the others as Teyla stalked to the jumper, John on her heels.

"Teyla, wait! What's going on?"

"This is the first clue I have had to what might have happened to my people. I need to go to Tsipar."

"And I'll be happy to take you, but I need the full story first."

Striding up the ramp, she took the co-pilot's chair and turned to face John. "Tsipar is a technologically advanced race. Not on the scale of Atlantis or the Travelers, but more so than the Genii or the Hoffans. They are the creators of the firelighter I used to carry. Shortly after we moved to this planet, a small group traveled to Tsipar to trade. The group was attacked while there."

She had been recuperating on New Athos after falling ill from the encounter with Rodney's whale friend. The image of the group staggering through the Ring, clothing torn and bloodied, barely able to stand much less walk, was burned into her mind forever. Mostly teenagers, they had been overpowered by superior weaponry.

"Teyla?"

"No one commits such an act of violence against my people without consequence. We demanded justice; the Tsipar trade consortium refused. They said to do anything would jeopardize trade." Her jaw tightened. "We meted out our own justice and cut all ties with the Tsipar."

"You killed them?"

"We made certain those men would never be able to commit such a crime again."

"Ahhhh." John bit his lip as he looked at her through his lashes. "Look, I don't mean to doubt you, but is it possible that someone resumed trading with them without your knowledge?"

She paused, only for a moment but long enough to register the stab of pain. At one time, she would have answered without hesitation, but no matter how much time she spent here, she was away far too much. Then the memory of Venlata sobbing in her father's arms and the fire blazing in the Council's eyes as they selected the _hranlov_, the justice givers, reminded her of what she already knew.

"No. It is not possible." Sighing deeply, she continued, "What is possible is that the coin was brought here by either the man claiming to be Genii or the Bolo Kai."

"But we won't know if we don't go ask. Is their gate guarded?"

"No. It is in the middle of a field a short distance from their largest city, and while they track all activity, they do so electronically."

John brought the engines to life as he keyed his comm. "Lieutenant Franks?"

"_Yes, Sir?_"

"Teyla and I are leaving. I'll inform Atlantis of our plans. Finish packing the jumpers and head back."

"_Will do, Sir. Do you need any backup?_"

"Negative, Lieutenant. Get everyone back to Atlantis as soon as you can. And if you run into trouble…."

"_I'm a Marine, Sir. I don't run into trouble. I cause it_."

Struggling to suppress a smile, John replied, "This is the Pegasus Galaxy, Lieutenant. Trouble eats Marines for breakfast."

"_I'd give it indigestion_."

Pride flashed on John's face. "I bet you would. No heroics though. You've got civilians. Get 'em home."

"_Yes, Sir. Safe flying, Sir_."

"Sheppard out."

The jumper lifted gracefully, and the view wobbled from side to side when John waggled the drive pods as they flew over the camp.

"Dial Atlantis, Teyla."

She did as he asked, listening as he reported their findings to Colonel Carter. After asking a few questions, the colonel gave permission for the trip. Cutting the connection, Teyla dialed Tsipar, hoping with everything in her that the answer she sought lay on the other side of the event horizon.

oOo

The Marines at the gate saluted as they flew through. When they emerged on Tsipar, John engaged the cloak and banked hard to the left. The city spread out below him, reminiscent of Vegas at dusk only gaudier. Covering at least twenty kilometers – about a third of the size of Manhattan – every square inch was either concrete or metal. Uneven sidewalks separated the buildings, some of which towered as high as thirty stories. Pollution hung thick in the air, the lights haloing and prisming through the smog, and people scurried up streets and down alleyways. A transportation system similar to the El train in Chicago ran the perimeter and through the heart of the town.

"How do they avoid destruction by the Wraith?"

Teyla's jaw tightened. "The Tsipar have some kind of secure shelter. Since trade never stops here, when the Wraith arrive-"

"-the off-worlders are taken. God, this galaxy is screwed up."

"It is a known risk for trading here. But the Tsipar have technology that no one else has. Many people are willing to take the risk in order to get what they need."

"Do you think you'll have any chance of finding where that coin came from?"

She pulled the coin from her pocket, turning it over in her hands. "The Tsipar embed chips in their coins that carry information regarding what was purchased, where, and by whom."

"That's… frightening."

"As I have said, trade is of the upmost importance here. The data collected is analyzed to determine what goods are in demand and who the top buyers are; value and quality are of no interest. Retailers input the information into a citywide system." She craned her neck as she looked out the windshield. "The city is divided in trade sectors, and I have a good acquaintance in the Consumables sector which is there, in the lower right corner. I would like to go there first."

He landed the jumper half a kilometer from the indicated area then replaced his radio batteries and double-checked his ordinance, Teyla doing the same. After topping off their canteens and tucking a few PowerBars in his vest pocket, he secured the jumper with a remote and fell in step with her.

"So, if the Athosians don't use currency, and the Tsipar don't barter, how do you trade?"

"The trade sectors are not for Tsipar only; people from many worlds have established booths here. For years, my people had such a booth, selling crops. The Tsipar take a portion of profits in payment for the space. The money earned in sales is used to purchase from other booths and sectors."

John swatted at the fly-like insects that buzzed around him and tried not to gag at the odor that seemed to emanate from everywhere. "What is that smell?"

Teyla smiled mirthlessly. "The city. It is called Anich. The Tsipar have no appreciation for nature or aesthetics as evidenced by the abomination we just flew over. I have never seen it from above before; it is more hideous than I had imagined." She tugged on the labels of her coat as anger glinted in her eyes. "The only reason they dispose of their rubbish instead of simply tossing it on the ground is the fear of disease. Sickness slows down trade."

"Not a big fan of them, huh?"

"Their only care is for money. They are perfectly willing to sacrifice their world, their souls, and will use any means necessary for gain. There are few rules here."

John's gut clenched at the warning tone. "Why did you agree to trade with them in the first place?"

"It was not my decision." Her words were clipped, irritated. "Trade was established many years ago, even before my father was leader. The council was never willing to cut ties until our people were attacked." An eyebrow arched. "I'm not a monarch, you know. I was chosen as leader of the council, and the council is elected by the people, much like your Congress if I understood Elizabeth correctly."

"God help you," he muttered.

As they crested the last rise, the city lay before them, even uglier up close. The pollution and stench caused his nose to burn and his eyes to sting and tear. Visually it was overwhelming – neon lights strobing in more languages than he could count; the haphazard buildings reminding him of legos on LSD; people of every shape, size, and color jammed the streets, the cacophony at a level he'd heard only at the World Cup.

"Is it always like this?" he shouted.

"No," Teyla replied. "It must be a slow day."

She pushed into the crowd boldly. Teyla had always been a bit of a mystery to him. She was kind, gentle, compassionate, and so often the voice of reason, a cool head in the midst of hot tempers. He wondered how much of herself she regularly held inside because some days she was fierce to the point of being ruthless. Not only could she hold her own in a fight, she occasionally started one. And he had a feeling that today was going to be one of those days.

Hurrying after her, he kept one hand on his P-90 and the other on his .45. The crush of people bellowing words he didn't understand was unnerving, but he grinned as he imagined McKay struggling along with them, bitching nonstop about claustrophobia and disease and the god-awful smell that would mean requesting a new tablet and shoes. He followed Teyla into a shop no bigger than his quarters that turned out to be a bakery. Warm, natural light revealed shelf after dark wood shelf filled with breads and sweet pastries, and a heavenly aroma wafted from the oven in the back.

A dimpled woman of average height and weight beamed at them from behind the counter near the door. "Teyla Emmagan! It has been too long."

"Indeed it has." Teyla inclined her head in greeting before indicating him. "Calim of Serco, John Sheppard."

The woman lifted a brow. "Not of Athos. Lantean perhaps?"

John smiled calmly. "I'm from all over really but mostly from Maryland."

She didn't appear convinced. "I have never heard of Marlan."

Shrugging, he said, "I get that a lot. It's kinda obscure and not easy to get there from here."

"It is well known that the Athosians have allied with those who occupy the City of the Ancestors."

Resting his hands casually on the stock of his P-90, he replied, "I heard that it was destroyed by the Wraith."

Calim rolled her eyes at him. "No one believes that anymore. The Lanteans are too powerful to be eking out an existence on an abandoned planet somewhere. You, I mean _they_," she grinned knowingly, "have won numerous battles against the Wraith. That kind of thing does not go unnoticed." She turned to Teyla. "By anyone. Take great care while you are here."

"Thank you for the warning. We do not plan to stay long." Teyla offered the coin to the merchant. "Can you tell me who used this last?"

Picking up the small piece of metal, Calim studied it carefully. "Where did you find it?"

"On New Athos in the debris of the settlement."

"Debris?" Confusion colored Calim's face.

"Someone has taken my people. This is the only clue I've found."

"Tsipar stopped using these coins recently. I'm not sure it will be in the system."

"Please," Teyla whispered, "please try."

Calim nodded and stepped behind a small device that resembled a self check-out register at the grocery store. She placed the coin on the transparent surface and pressed a few buttons on a keypad next to it.

"This was given to a trader from Grolak named Fisic Brog." She glanced up from the screen. "He is a dealer of rugs in the Textiles sector."

"Can you tell me how to find his shop?"

"Of course." She drew a crude map on the back of a napkin and walked Teyla through the directions.

"Thank you, Calim. I cannot adequately express my appreciation for your assistance." Teyla grasped her shoulders and bowed her head in the traditional Athosian greeting.

Calim returned the greeting then hugged her warmly. "Don't let so much time pass before we meet again. And remember what I said. You are well known amongst the traders as is your alliance with the Lanteans."

"I will remember."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, John Sheppard of Marlan."

"And you, Calim. Thanks for your help."

oOo

Clutching the map tightly, Teyla strode through the mass of people without noticing them. The Grolakian people were not unknown to her but were not trade allies either. There was no reason the man should have visited New Athos, at least not to her knowledge. John walked quietly by her side, and she appreciated his silence. And his companionship.

He had been very supportive of her during the search for her people – all of her teammates had been. Rodney had worked long hours sifting through information from the forensic teams he was in charge of. Ronon had followed every lead, no matter how ridiculous. And John. John had listened to her, late at night, early in the morning, willing to stop whatever he was doing when she appeared and searching her out when she didn't, silently urging her to open up. She wondered if he knew he talked with his eyes. He might struggle to verbally express his feelings, but one look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He hurt when she hurt, when any of them hurt, even if he didn't know how to say it.

A casual glance over her right shoulder confirmed what her instincts had been shouting. Moving a step closer to John, she warned, "We are being followed."

"Yeah, I spotted 'em when we rounded the last corner. About six guys of average build. Not carrying any obvious weapons."

"It is the unobvious ones that concern me. And the crowd."

He scanned the street. "I agree. If we get in a shoot-out here, a lot of innocent bystanders are going to get hurt."

Teyla squared her shoulders, preparing for battle. "What do you wish to do?"

"How close are we to that shop?"

"Another block."

John stopped abruptly, his back against the wall as he tied a bootlace. She rested a hand on the grip of her gun as she stood next to him, glaring coldly at the men as they passed by.

Straightening, John held out a hand. "Let me see the map."

She handed the scrap of paper to him. He scrutinized it, glancing at the sky occasionally. "We're right in the middle of the city, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are."

He bit his lip. "Can we take the transport system out?"

"Not without money."

"Well then," he said with a smirk, "if we're completely screwed, we might as well see what your merchant guy has to say."

John strolled back into the foot traffic, deceptively calm and confident. She matched his stride, and they covered the last block quickly then ducked into the shop run by Fisic Brog. Rugs of every style, color, and weave adorned the walls and floor and hung from the ceiling. A short, balding man stood near the front.

"May I help you?"

Firmly affixing her best smile, she nodded. "Yes. I am seeking Fisic Brog. Are you he?"

"You just missed him. He's headed to Frepect's establishment for a spot of refreshment and entertainment." The store clerk leered at her. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No," she replied. "It is a personal matter. Can you tell me where to find Frepect's?"

"Take a left at the end of the block. It's in the middle of the next one. Can't miss it. Or him. He's about my height but about three times wider." The little man hacked out a laugh.

"Thank you for your assistance."

Teyla checked the street, not seeing the men from earlier but catching a glimpse of a small, rotund man rounding the corner. She hurried after him, John at her side, determined to get some answers.

"Can you see him?"

John stood as straight as he could. "Yeah, I've got him."

She pushed through the crowd that spilled off the sidewalk and into the street, wishing this once to be tall like Ronon.

"He's not going in the bar," John informed her.

"Perhaps it is not the right man."

"Maybe. But there's only one way to know for sure."

Trying to ignore the bumping, jostling, and groping, she moved closer to John as they started up the next block. A fist in her coat collar and sour breath near her ear brought her to a halt.

"You should fetch a nice price."

Planting an elbow in her attacker's nose, she twirled away, drawing the knife from her belt. Peripherally, she saw John struggle against two men, flipping one over his shoulder and knocking the other to the ground with a leg sweep she proudly recognized as her own. Pulling his own knife, he pressed his back to hers.

"You OK?"

"I am fine, John. He was not so lucky."

She glared at the man who had grabbed her, noting with satisfaction the blood that spurted between the fingers that clutched his nose. The crowd barely noticed them, parting to go around but not stopping to help.

"What do you want?" John growled.

"You, Lantean, and the technology you carry."

"Sorry," John answered flippantly. "Wrong guy. I'm from Marlan."

"Your clothing and weapons say otherwise, _Lantean_."

"These? Bought them at a shop a few blocks back. Good sale. You should check it out," John said with a smirk.

"You lie."

Five men surrounded them – the one with a bloody nose and bad breath, the two John had knocked down, a thin man with stringy black hair, and the talker who was solidly built with close-cropped blond hair.

John held up a placating hand. "Look, fellas, I think we got off on the wrong foot. We're just here to ask a man about a coin."

The talker drew a long, vicious-looking blade and waved it menacingly at him. "And we are here for you."

He lunged at John as her original attacker jumped at her. Metal clanged against metal behind her while she side-stepped her man. Flipping the knife, she plunged it into his back, near his spine. He dropped without a sound. The thin man moved into the shadows as the other two joined in the fight. Unable to pull the knife out before they reached her, she spun, kicking one in the face and knocking him into the other. Roaring in anger, they charged her. She slammed a fist into the first man's solar plexus. Turning to the other, she drove him backward with a flurry of kicks and punches. A knife from the first man whispered over the arm of her coat. Stiff-arming him in the throat, she kneed him in the groin then snapped his neck with a quick twist of his chin.

A glance at John showed him holding his own against a knife-fighter who would challenge Ronon. The second man staggered up and leapt at her. She moved deftly to the side, smiling as he flew past her and into the street. A strangled yelp jerked her attention back to John who was retrieving his knife from the throat of the talker. A whine sounded, barely perceptible over the din of the crowd still flowing around them, a whine similar to Ronon's weapon.

"John!"

He looked up as a green beam caught him full in the chest; he slumped bonelessly to the ground. Whirling, she drew her Beretta as the thin man turned the weapon toward her. She fired unhesitatingly, the bullet landing in the center of his forehead. The last man climbed to his feet and found himself staring into the still-smoking muzzle of her sidearm.

"Run. Now," she ordered.

He obeyed, vanishing in the crowd.

Kneeling at John's side, she sighed in relief as panicked hazel eyes stared back at her. "Can you move?"

He blinked twice.

"Is that a no?"

One blink.

"I believe you are merely stunned. Feeling should return to your body momentarily. But I think we should probably get out of the street."

One blink.

Wrapping her arms around him, she glanced down the street in the direction Fisic had last been seen then pulled John into an abandoned storefront, settling him in front of an empty window. "We shall wait here until you are strong enough to move." In her mind's eye, the tenuous tie to her people snapped.

Enough light filtered through the filthy window that she could see John's eyes. They darted from her to the door. The panic had disappeared, but urgency had replaced it. He stared hard at her then looked at the door again.

"Are you concerned someone will find us?

Two blinks. Then a darted glance from her to the door.

"You wish me to leave?"

One blink.

"To find Fisic Brog?"

One blink.

"I will not leave you here alone."

He glared at her then the door.

"No, John. We do not leave our people behind."

His eyes turned pleading.

"No."

He closed his eyes.

She grasped his hand, squeezing the masculine fingers lightly. Long, slender, gentle yet capable of great violence. The skin over his palms and around his thumbs was thickened from years on the firing range, and calluses had developed on his fingertips from playing his guitar. The scar in the center of his right palm was from a childhood bonding ritual that Rodney had disdained as barbaric, and the almost imperceptible wrinkles on his left hand were a reminder of the time dilation field.

"I have a confession to make as well," she whispered.

Other hands flashed in her mind – Dr. LaSalle's with the chemical burns that covered her palm and upper arm….

John's eyes opened.

"In the jumper bay today, when you asked if I was surprised by the people willing to help me."

… Rodney's – fingers burnt and bleeding as he repaired a sparking console in an attempt to save their lives again….

"For many years, I have considered myself an ally of the Lanteans as Calim said."

… Ronon's – scarred from battles that he didn't talk about….

"You have always welcomed me, accepted me, but I have felt at times that others have not."

… Jennifer Keller's – strong and nimble, a surgeon's hands but bearing a jagged cut from defending herself when attacked during college….

"Perhaps I have held myself apart from them, not allowed myself to be Lantean for fear of losing my identity as Athosian."

… Elizabeth's – graceful like her grandmother's but roughened from time spent in faraway places….

"Then I watched your- _our_ people today as they gave of their time to help me. None of them are Lantean either. They did not give up their identity when they came here."

… Radek Zelenka's – gentle and calm with tiny burn marks from swatting flames during his childhood….

"I will always be Athosian first, but I realized today that I can also be Lantean."

… Major Lorne's – powerful and capable, paint stains between his fingers; Colonel Carter's – a strange cross between John and Rodney's: toughened but able to make a computer sing….

"I guess we are all Lantean second," she concluded, glancing down in surprise as his fingers tightened around hers.

"Should have gone," he slurred.

"No, I shouldn't have." Smiling indulgently, she brushed the hair from his forehead. "You told me once that you considered me family. Do you not know that you are part of mine?"

His eyes darkened, and he turned his face away slightly.

"I will not sacrifice you for them."

He grunted then a shy grin spread over his face. "Thanks."

"You are welcome. How do you feel?"

Groaning, he flexed his hands. "Pins and needles." He slowly pushed himself upright. "You're not going to tell Ronon and McKay about this, are you? I promised them we wouldn't get shot."

"_We_ didn't. You did. With a stunner."

"Teyla…." he whined.

"My silence can be bought."

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "I've already spent most of my lifesavings on chocolate and popcorn. What else do you want?"

"Jennifer has expressed interest in seeing a movie called _P.S. I Love You_."

Horror spread over his features. "Never heard of it, but it sounds like a chick flick, and I refuse to spend my hard-earned money on something like that."

She shrugged. "Very well. I am sure Ronon and Rodney will stop teasing you about this. One day."

John stumbled to his feet, leaning against the wall for balance. "Blackmail is beneath you."

Arching a brow, Teyla said, "Blackmail has such a negative connotation. I prefer to think of it as masterful negotiation."

Tentatively taking a step, he wobbled a bit but stayed on his feet. "Fine, but you'll have to wait until it comes out on DVD. Rodney is the only one who can get pirated copies, and I'd rather hang out in an iratus cave than ask him for that."

Relenting, she agreed, "I shall endeavor to wait until then. Are you ready?"

He bounced on his toes and stretched. "Yep. Let's go home."

oOo

The hot water pounded John's neck and shoulders as he rinsed away the sweat from the run with Ronon. Switching the shower off, he toweled dry and grabbed his last clean pair of BDUs then checked the clock – just over an hour before the orientation session with the newest batch of scientists. John reached for the laptop then stopped.

Locating his radio, he perched on the edge of his bed. "Teyla, this is Sheppard."

"_Good morning, John. What can I do for you?_"

She sounded tired. Lorne's team, dressed in native attire, had found the body of Fisic Brog in the back of his store. Heart attack according to Keller. Teyla had taken the news better than he had.

"What are you doing?"

"_I am on my way to have breakfast. Would you like to join me?_"

"Sure. Be right there."

He hurried to the mess hall, filled a tray with coffee and an omelet, and made his way to the outdoor balcony where Teyla sat, staring into the distance.

"Hey."

She gave a wan smile. "Hello."

"What do you have going on today?"

"I have an intermediate bantos class in half an hour then Dr. Phillips has asked me to teach some basic Athosian phrases to his linguistics students. After that, I have some mission reports to finish. And you?"

"Geek orientation, military staff meeting, blah blah blah." He sipped his coffee. "But I have a bit of time right now. I was wondering…."

She smiled genuinely this time. "What do you wish to know?"

"Tell me about Athosian music."

* * *

_A/N: Many thanks to **kristen999** for the wonderful beta. Written for **tassosss** in the **John/Teyla Thing-a-Thon** for the prompts: first, second, old hands. And if you're wondering why John only got stunned, she requested no h/c. Ironic, no? _


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